


In the Family Way

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Breeding, Chubby Stiles, Come Marking, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Nursing Kink, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Pregnant Stiles, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek brushes their noses together when he pulls away and cleans Isaac with broad, long strokes of his tongue before pulling the boy close by the softness of his smooth, little ass. “Your mama needs to be stretched, we need to make room for the new baby to come. Could you help?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Family Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiccinDylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiccinDylan/gifts).



> Based off the follower prompts:  
> 

Derek likes to call it “practice”, likes to coo at Stiles with a smug smile as he kisses the barely rounded belly where his pups are growing. Stiles honestly just can’t believe he lets him do it—hopes no one in the pack could ever imagine fingers turning into a fist and that aluminum baseball bat they keep by the side of the bed definitely not being used for peace of mind. He’d probably have to crawl in a hole and just never, ever, ever come out if they walked in on Derek wrist deep inside him, biting and murmuring against the soft skin of his belly, while Stiles writhes and moans for it—cries for Derek to fuck another baby in him and keep him heavy and full forever.

And as if that’s not enough, as if he can’t possibly feel more ridiculous by believing that they do this so Stiles will be ready to give birth in a few months, Derek had found a new aspect of his pregnancy he loved, a new way to dote on his knocked up husband while also taking a little something for himself. And this one he didn’t keep to the bedroom, this one he didn’t bother trying to keep just for them.

It happens when Stiles wakes up at ass o’clock in the morning and stumbles into the kitchen—greeting an equally muzzy-eyed Isaac over the coffee pot—before Derek pulls him into his lap and cups the little bulge of his stomach. At this point, Stiles could be gestating a food baby, the bump barely noticeable through his shirt, but making him look pretty chubby when he’s naked. He actually thinks it’s pretty cute and may or may not have shyly talked to Derek about maybe being one of those mothers that just lets it all out after the baby comes. He found himself weirdly enamored by the milky softness of his flesh once he started putting on weight—the extra jiggle in his ass and thighs when he walked, the way his hands rested easily on his paunch, the barely-there curve to his chest. He thinks he may have actually used the phrase, “more cushion for the pushin” while nervously babbling about it, but he definitely didn’t need to, because as soon as he let Derek get a word in edgewise, he’d gotten the most enthusiastic blowjob of his whole life as the werewolf kneaded the over-generous swells of his asscheeks with the most delirious hunger.

So Stiles likes being touched like that, loves when Derek jellies his flesh just to watch it move, cuddles against him like the world’s best pillow, sucks on the soft meat that’s starting to overhang on his sides. He doesn’t think much of it when Derek smoothes his hand up under the thin t-shirt Stiles wore to bed and scrapes his fingers through the thick hair covering his belly—just closes his eyes and hums when it climbs higher to cup one of his swollen pecs.

He can hear the wood scrape against the floor when Isaac pulls out a chair to sit across from them, but can’t find it in himself to ask Derek to stop when he pinches a puffy nipple, starts rolling it between his fingers. Because the massage fills him with such relief—makes his mouth and legs fall open and his head lay back—as the soreness of the tissue starts to gentle. Stiles thinks Derek hitches his shirt higher to get a better angle, exposing that baby belly and his soft, supple tits, but when tepid pearls start to bead and roll down his thick fingers, Derek starts to make a noise close to purring and wraps his face around to slurp the sensitive tip into his mouth and begin sucking.

Stiles can’t help the soft, breathy sob that punches out of his chest and when Derek makes a grunt of pleasure in reply, he starts to arch his back to give him better purchase. The sounds Derek makes as he suckles the sweet milk are absolutely obscene—alternating from the lewd squelches when he latches onto the areola with his teeth and sucks, to the ragged pants of his hot breath as he drags his broad, flat tongue over the pink puffs to excite them more—get them to spurt.

Stiles can feel how hard Derek is beneath him—ratty pajama pants doing nothing to clothe the rigid erection digging against his back. He can actually feel the soft skin and wet tip and knows it’s poking out from Derek’s waistband. He whimpers pathetically as his husband starts to grope his own, twitching cocklet through his cotton boxers, and finally manages to winch his eyes open when Derek undoes the button and pulls it through the piss slit in the front to jack between three fingers and a thumb.

He can see Isaac staring at them with wide eyes across the table, his breath coming in shallow pants and his pale cheeks flushed a ruddy pink. The boy was more sweet than acerbic these days and even though he’s the same age as Stiles had basically acted as their surrogate child for some time. Stiles did his laundry and made his bed in the mornings. Derek cooked him every meal and packed his lunches. They all sat huddled together on the couch for movie nights and planned daytrips for the weekend. Isaac was more or less watching mom and dad—or at the very least some pseudo-brothers—having sex in front of him and he was… masturbating.

Stiles came in thick ropes across the dining table the second he saw Isaac hunched over his pretty, pink dick and fisting it with harsh, jerking strokes. Both wolves’ eyes glowed as it spattered against the wood and Isaac looked stricken as he stuttered forward, bending over it and breathing in the musk with an open mouth. He kept looking up at the two of them nervously, hungrily and Stiles whined when Derek pulled off his tit to nuzzle up into his armpit and stare at the boy they’ve been living with for almost five years now. “Good pup,” he husks, rolling his hips to grind up against Stiles’ ass crudely. “Come help me take care of mama.”

Derek had been afraid to call him that at first—they all had—but Stiles was more than happy to wear the moniker. Nothing seemed like a greater honor than that, no name had higher praise. He could be a boy and a mother too. Mother meant nurturing, mother meant safe, mother meant home to him, and he wanted to give all those things to the odd little family he’d made. But he’d never been called the endearment like this before. When Derek’s mouth got running in the bedroom, he usually liked to use words like mount and breed and bitch. Mama—mama was new—but so was Isaac trembling as he licked Stiles’ warm cum from the table, cupping it in his long tongue before wiggling over to their seat with his sleep shorts and briefs around his ankles to share it with Derek.

Derek holds the boy’s jaw with tender affection as their tongues curl and lash around each other—both their mouths pried wide open and the thick fluid spilling over their lips and chins. Derek brushes their noses together when he pulls away and cleans Isaac with broad, long strokes of his tongue before pulling the boy close by the softness of his smooth, little ass. “Your mama needs to be stretched, we need to make room for the new baby to come. Could you help?” Stiles feels his heart skip a beat as they consider this without even asking him—Derek giving up their jealously guarded bedroom in a second. He doesn’t know what he wants Isaac to say back—knows what he probably _should_ and yet—yet he holds his breath in anticipation.

The boy looks between them with jittery eyes, one hand still gripping his leaking erection, mouth soft and open, before nodding slow and careful. Derek grins and surges forward to claim his mouth with teeth and tongue again and Isaac whimpers beneath him. Derek rises from their chair slowly, keeping an arm gripped tight across Stiles’ middle as they stand together, and then takes Isaac’s hand with his free one.

The blonde boy steps out of his clothes as they walk together back to the bedroom and stands awkwardly by the bedside as Derek lays Stiles out, peels off his clothes, and whispers the sweetest praises against his skin. “Doesn’t he look beautiful, pup?” Derek turns his head to ask after he kisses Stiles’ tiny, soft cock where it’s bedded against his uneven balls. “All soft and swollen and glowing. You could taste it on him, couldn’t you? He’s so ripe and sweet.” Derek’s breath comes heavy out his nose as he crawls back up Stiles to lave at the tit he’d neglected before, letting the milk run over his lips and down Stiles’ chest freely. “Come, nurse. He wants to take care of us.”

Isaac hesitates where he’s standing, but his eyes are a preternatural gold, have been ever since the milk started to bead and roll. It just takes another encouraging, smiling nod from Derek before he stumbles over and keeps his eyes locked with his alpha as he puts his lips to Stiles’ puffy tit and starts to suckle. As soon as the taste hits his tongue, those bright eyes shutter closed and the boy moans around his mouthful as he takes to it with vigor. “Good boy,” Derek praises, patting the top of his head fondly. “You take care of him, baby, the stretch is hard for him.”

Leaving Isaac to his ministrations, Derek climbs off the bed to kneel at its side, pulling Stiles forward by his legs, and pushing open his thighs to expose his dusky pink hole. Derek sighs happily as he brushes aside the silky, dark hair and easily pushes two fingers inside the small gape. They’ve been “practicing” a lot. Stiles whines and wriggles at the dry, burning sensation, but Isaac does what he was told and holds him still while he continues to drink. He looks up at Stiles from under his lashes with something close to awe, and it makes his heart warm in his chest to see the boy so at home. He can’t keep himself from running his fingers through those curly locks before cupping the back of his head and cradling him to his chest.

Stiles bites his lips as he feels his cocklet start to stir again while he gazes into Isaac’s sweet, open face and Derek starts to nose under his balls, whuffing hot air from his mouth and nostrils as he scents Stiles’ twitching pucker. “Mine,” he murmurs, as he pushes his nose into the muscle, digging past the rim. “My boy-cunt, my pretty puss.” He pulls back so he can reposition his mouth against the heated opening and starts placing wet, open kisses against it, starting up the purring again as his tongue brushes against the velvety insides.

It doesn’t take long to get him wet and soppy—his rim swollen and just this side of irritated from over stimulation. Derek only has to scissor him a few times before he can usher three of his thick fingers inside in a tight bundle. Stiles tries his best not to bear down on them, not to put up any resistance because the real burn is yet to come and he doesn’t want to make himself sore on nothing. It helps when Isaac seems to finally get his fill, tongue stained an off-white as he pulls off and his eyes blink slowly in a contented haze.

Stiles focuses on his muzzy face as the boy smiles sweetly at him and murmurs a happy, “Mama,” as he cuddles up to Stiles’ side, burying his face in a salty armpit, and starts lazily fucking his wet dick against Stiles’ rounded belly. The tacky, thick precum never really cools against his skin as Isaac ruts in the ever-growing mess, making their pale skin glisten with it. Stiles lets himself get caught up in the sleepy arousal as Derek pushes his pinky in alongside the rest of the fingers, making Stiles whimper.

The stretch is always so much worse from three to four than any of the others—no good way to bundle the digits this time and the new girth is suddenly increased unevenly. Stiles is starting to feel it—that achy sort of spent where his cock is only half-hard and cold and sore, his hole is stinging with the attempt to stretch further than would ever be necessary, and now his breasts are tight and sticky and used.

He writhes uncomfortably as the two wolves hold him down and take their own pleasures relentlessly in this harsh refractory. He knows it’ll start to feel good again once he gets accustomed to the stretch, once his dick is ready to be hard again, once his body warms and gets lucid and pliant, but he’s not there yet and the time until then seems to stretch on forever. Derek’s started working his thumb inside along all the other fingers, his hand squished into an uneven delta, his knuckles catching against what little resistance is left. His balls and tits are empty, but Stiles’ belly and ass are starting to feel overfull, and his mind is telling him to just get up and purge as though this were the stomach flu.

Derek is whispering things against his knee as he gets closer and closer to sliding his whole fist inside and Stiles can see the overwhelming desire shining behind his eyes as he’s enveloped in that plush heat, but he can’t hear the words—doesn’t have his own to ask for the comfort he needs. He knows that Derek is smart and caring enough to have started using lube by now to get him open, but he still feels every centimeter of rough skin that drags across his insides and if he were one for being over dramatic, he’d say it felt like sandpaper.

It felt like sandpaper.

He was too sensitive, too raw, too used up to do this and he squirmed endlessly beneath the other boys, pitiful mewls spilling off his lips that they took with sympathetic kisses against his feverish skin. Isaac is the one to seem to finally notice his distress, maybe scenting something sour in the sweat damping his face, and he sits up just enough to look Stiles in the eyes for a long moment. He whines softly and cups Stiles’ jaw with a beloved tenderness before leaning down to kiss him, licking into his mouth kittenish and tentative.

Stiles opens up easily beneath him— so well trained—and their hips buck against each other. Isaac climbs to straddle him as they’re kissing and moves his free hand down to cup at Stiles’ downy balls, milking them with smooth motions of his wrist. Stiles is only aware of the fact that Derek has pushed all the way to his own wrist now by the pressure put against his bladder as his husband works his hand in and out of the over-fucked rim that couldn’t possibly be called a pucker anymore.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Derek breathes, kissing at the muscle mouthing wetly at his wrist and then moving up to bite softly at the lily white tush right above it—Isaac’s soft, little ass jiggling with his thrusts. “Both my boys are doing so well.” Stiles’ knees are starting to give out and he can’t keep his legs up anymore as they burn from over-exertion, but Derek isn’t done with him yet, just getting to the point where he can push his fist in and out of Stiles’ gape without having to stop against the resistance, so he uses the last of his strength to throw them over his husband’s shoulders before he just lays there and lets himself be ravaged.

Isaac is panting hotly against his mouth now, unable to keep up with their kisses, but unwilling to move away as he looks into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles can practically taste his own milk wafting off the boy’s tongue as his cocklet finally plumps up into full hardness  against the soft inside of Isaac’s forearm. Once it does, the other boy plucks at it with a groan and pushes it up between their bellies, holding it in place and smothering it with his own pink dick— fucking against its turgid length and Stiles’ swollen stomach.

Stiles is thankful for it as Derek pulls out and licks inside of him with a pleased hum before moving away and leaving him feeling like he’s wounded—open to the cold air, feverish, fetid. He knows what’s coming next and feels tears streaming down his face in what he thinks is relief. He is glad, now at least, that Isaac is taking care of him, or else Derek would be spouting all these little facts he’s read about on parenting websites and in the dozens of books he’s bought about how labor takes hours, about how wide mothers have to dilate, about how natural birth is what’s best for the baby. He just presses his forehead against Isaac’s and tries his best to do what he can for their other pup, managing to get his arms up on the boy’s back and running his hands up and down it soothingly.

He can feel Isaac’s knot growing at the base of his own cock and the boy is starting to shake and whimper as it does. Stiles doesn’t know that that’s ever happened to him before and he shushes him gently, uses his hands to push their hips tighter together, squish the bulb between them to show him how pleasurable the pressure can be. Meanwhile, Derek is finally kneeling between his legs again, and going through the very same ministrations as he rubs his large hands against the inside of Stiles’ thighs.

He always makes sure to warm and well-lube the light weight metal before it ever comes into contact with Stiles’ body and he is grateful for it as he feels the blunt end start to push against his wrecked asshole and slide inside. He moans against the sensation because there’s no other sound that could possibly be right for it and is full again—stuffed to overflowing. The pressure against his prostate makes his cock dribble and endless tickle of cum from the tip and Isaac starts to slide in it, cockhead catching against the rim of Stiles’ navel, knot hard and completely swelled.

Stiles’ eyes are rolling back in his head and if he had the strength, he’d start to arch off the bed. As it is, he just lets his sobs get swallowed by Isaac’s greedy mouth and hangs on. As Derek pushes the bat further inside, he can feel his bladder being squished and he manages to cry out his husband’s name in warning. The sensation stops for a moment, but Derek just leans under Isaac to kiss at Stiles’ hip and says rather plainly, “Mothers soil the bed during childbirth all the time, baby. It’s okay,” and then the bat is pressing in again and Stiles is flexing his dick as hard as he can, but he can’t stop it, and piss dribbles out of him, spilling down the creases of his thighs and his belly.

Derek groans low and hungry and Isaac stills above him as his whole body goes rigid and he starts to come, spraying jets of semen all over Stiles’ pregnant belly, milky tits, and the underside of his chin. Because of his knot, it doesn’t stop with just three or four big spurts, but continues relentlessly as Stiles is bathed in it and Isaac starts to whine and quake, falling over on top of him to share the mess between them. The intensity will die down soon, but he’ll be coming for the next fifteen minutes at least, and without being tied, Stiles and the bed will just be soaked.

Derek slides the bat out of him and Stiles hear it clatter wetly to the floor and roll away as Derek climbs on top of both of his boys with a growl, pressing his chest to Isaac’s sweaty back and angling his pelvis into an animal position so he can fuck into Stiles’ gape. Stiles honestly can’t say that he even felt Derek’s dick squelching inside of his wrecked hole, but he knows that he’s there and that he’s knotted when his insides burn anew—the exposed and aching flesh so sensitive and red— bathed in his husband’s thick, pearly cum.  Derek collapses as well and now Stiles is feeling compression on his ribs and chest, but he’s warm and his eyes are already sliding closed and he feels at home.

* * *

 

When Stiles wakes up, he’s goopy and sticky and smells so strongly of spunk he never, ever thinks he’ll get it out of his skin. His chest hair and treasure trail and pubes are matted with the stuff and the sheets squelch when he moves. His ass feels like he’s stuck in a perpetual state of shitting himself and his nipples are on fire.

Isaac is naked and curled under an arm, eyes on the TV across from the foot of the bed where some sitcom is playing on a low volume. He’s got it probably just as bad Stiles, but seems content for now in this sopping puddle of debauchery, tangling their legs together and laying his cheek against the only dry spot on Stiles’ shoulder. He’s just about to say something when Derek comes tottering into the room, balancing the reheated coffee they left in the kitchen earlier.

He absolutely _beams_ when he sees Stiles awake and hurries to the other side of the bed as fast as he can manage—setting the mugs down on the nightstand. He’s got his glasses on now, but not anything else, and he’s cleaned the mess out of his beard, but not anywhere on his furry body. “You did so good Stiles,” he says with reverence. Stiles can actually, literally see his chest puff with pride and he looks so fucking _pleased._ Stiles smiles up at him, because this is why he does it. This is why he continues to do it. Derek deserves to be this unreservedly happy.

Stiles pats the space next to him, sheets coming up with his hand and he has to wrestle them off his skin. “Come feed me, baby daddy.” Derek blushes clear up to his ears, but bounces out of the room for a moment to retrieve some fruit and toast and (unfortunately) Stiles’ prenatal vitamin. He squishes happily beside his husband and gives him the sweetest kiss, pressing their foreheads together and smiling so wide his eyes crinkle.

While Stiles eats Derek has no qualms about rubbing his baby belly through the mess of cold cum and kissing his temple over and over again. While Stiles eyes his giant-ass horse pill between his fingers, Isaac wriggles around, whines, and lets out a squeaking fart before smiling again, and Derek takes a long drag of his coffee, makes a face, puts the rim to Stiles’ nipple, and squeezes.

Somehow, this is the family Stiles got stuck with. And, apparently, he couldn’t be any happier. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm getting close to opening my prompts again, so keep an eye out over at   
> [my tumblr](http://www.drivenbyadevilshunger.tumblr.com) if you want a fic of your own.


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